


The Final Fall

by sherlylovesbees



Series: Johnlock Ficlets [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Fluff, Grief, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sad Sherlock, Sherlock Is Not Okay, Sherlock is Alone, Smut, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:30:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9284531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlylovesbees/pseuds/sherlylovesbees
Summary: John has proposed the opportunity to be his best man to Sherlock. Sherlock's depression grows stronger and he begins to go back to old habits.





	1. The Best Man

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction on Archive of our Own and I'm so excited to be writing this! I was inspired by @cumberinjection_ on Instagram to write this after watching one of their video edits. I'm not really good with grammar  
> , so I apologize for any grammar mistakes ahead of time.  
> Enjoy!

“I want you to be my best man,” John said, staring up into Sherlock’s blue, confused eyes. He blinked rapidly, not understanding his current situation.  
Why me? Sherlock asked himself. Didn’t he know what he’s put me through? He must know how I feel, that I need him. Sherlock tried not to break down. This was a good thing, right? People didn’t ask other people to be their best man for the sheer fun of boasting that they have finally found happiness. No, people didn’t do that at all (at least not on purpose). Understanding this must be the case, Sherlock decided instead of fixing his mind on the negative parts, he would face the positives. Him being John’s best man meant that he was one of two people that he cared about most in the world. John loved him and truly cared. John wants him to be a part of his life. He didn’t want to live without him- even if that means just being friends. Sherlock stood still, confusion visible on his face. He never realized that John actually wanted to continue their platonic relationship. He thought that John had hated him for what he had done. Even though he had forgiven him, he always had a small part of him that always wondered if that was true. His thoughts were interrupted by a light chuckle from John, staring up at him in wonder with an undertone of shock.  
“Seriously?” John asked, smiling at Sherlock.  
“I-I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” Sherlock replied, still a bit out of it from the recent turn of events.John chuckled once more, feeling a bit remorseful about the way Sherlock viewed himself in John’s eyes.  
“Of course you’re my best friend.” John retorted. Sherlock continued to stand still, replicating the form of a statue, not even appearing to be breathing at a moment. His face still stricken with bewilderment. “Okay, that’s getting a bit scary now,” John said, feeling a bit uncomfortable in the awkward silence. Sherlock tried to continue his previous actions before John had sprung upon Sherlock the duty of being a Best Man.  
What was I doing? Sherlock asked himself, He looked down at the mug in front of him. Tea, yes. I was drinking tea. Forgetting his prior experiment which included (for some reason) heating an eyeball with a blowtorch and dropping said organ into his beverage, he proceeded to pick up the mug. He took a long sip and was a bit taken back by the odd taste of the drink. John laughed once more and looked up at his former flatmate in amusement.  
“And how was that?” John asked, grinning madly as he looked up at Sherlock. Sherlock contorted his face, moving it around and looking at the eyeball, bobbing around in the tea.  
“Surprisingly not bad.” They both looked up at each other in delight before breaking madly into laughter.

~

Sherlock danced around the room, listening to the song he had prepared for the first dance of the wedding reception. He closed his eyes, imagining John’s warm body enclosed in his, them both dancing into oblivion, carelessly gliding across the room. Waltz for John and Mary, Sherlock had named it. A name so simple yet terribly heartbreaking. Each note on the paper representing a bit of his heart being torn away. Sherlock had cried composing this piece. His tears still showing after many days of drying. Sherlock’s soul shrunk with each measure, crescendo, and decrescendo. However, he kept his head high. This isn’t about me, he thought. This is about John Hamish Watson, the man I love most in the entirety of the universe.

“Oh, I thought this was you playing!” Ms. Hudson exclaimed, walking into Sherlock’s flat.  
“It is, well was me,” Sherlock replied, setting his finger upon the CD player to stop the recording.  
“I brought you some tea,” She said, setting down the beverage on the small coffee table next to his sitting chair. “You know, marriage changes people,” Ms. Hudson said, sitting down in the chair which used to belong to Sherlock’s best friend.  
“Hmmmm,” Sherlock hummed, not really listening to her.  
“I’m serious, my bridesmaid, best friend in the world. We said we could stay friends forever, but after the wedding I rarely saw her. She even left early, who does that!?” She asked, half talking to herself. Sherlock had contemplated this possibility for a while now, and was afraid of what might come from this. Sherlock loved John, he was his whole world. It was always him, he kept him sane, right. Sherlock tried to push the thought from his head, but it kept coming back. He was terribly afraid of John leaving him. The emotional stress taking a toll on him. He had started to abuse substances again, starting with cigarettes but he knew it would only be a matter of time before he went to something stronger. John was like a drug to him. The nostalgia of being with him was stronger than any substance he had ever taken. With John gone, it felt like Sherlock had a piece of him missing. With John gone, every night was a danger night.  
~  
Sherlock sat at his desk, a singular lamp lighting the paper in front of him, titled “Best Man Speech.” Sherlock hadn’t eaten in days, finding ways to occupy his mind (one of them being his speech), but it was starting to get boring. He was running out of stimulants. The next morning was the first day he started to do drugs again. It probably wasn’t a good thing that he was a graduate chemist. A bit of chemicals and genius and he had made his own kind of drug. However he tried his best to stay away from his stronger, man made experiments. He still needed to stay alive for one more week. Sherlock took the syringe from his makeshift lab and unraveled his sleeve to his forearm. He brought the tip to his nerve, sighing in relief as the cool liquid seeped into his bloodstream. He sat back onto the couch. Keeping his eyes closed for a mere second before slowly opening them again. He brought his gaze to John’s chair. His eyes welled up with tears as he remembered all of the memories he had with his best friend. Tears streaked down his face and gathered at his chin as each drop fell onto his collarbone, pooling at the collar of his shirt. He set the syringe down, bringing his hands to his face as he quietly sobbed, whispering “John” between his cries. He continued crying for another half hour before slowly drifting off into sleep. Sherlock woke up early that morning to Ms. Hudson bringing in his morning tea.  
“Ah, morning Ms. Hudson,” Sherlock said, drowsy from his deep sleep. Ms. Hudson returned the greeting and quickly exited, trying not to notice the multiple syringes and cigarette butts lying around his flat. Sherlock lied on the couch for a little over a minute before slowly rising from his comfortable position. He stood up and staggered a bit, leaning against the couch for support. He walked over to the bathroom, not touching the breakfast Ms. Hudson had prepared for him. I don’t deserve to eat Sherlock thought, It’s my fault he’s not here anymore. Sherlock slowly stripped, mindlessly letting his clothes hit the floor, still dazed from his emotional outburst of the night prior. Sherlock started the bath, slipping his long, pale limbs into the warm water. He slowly lowered himself into the bath, leaning his head against the wall behind him. He sighed with relief as he felt the warm water relax his muscles. Maybe this will help Sherlock thought unconfidently, closing his eyes and letting the water consume him. He tried to keep his head clear, not trying to focus on anything in particular especially John Watson. He relaxed in the tub no more than a ten minutes before he started to feel his skin dry. He slowly stepped out of the shower, wrapping his towel around his small waist. He stared at himself in the mirror, not able to recognize the witty, intelligent brain of a man anymore. The only person he saw was a small frail body, looking back at him hopelessly. His ribs showed, his skin became paler, and his eyes were now a dull grey rather than the vibrant green-blue eyes that used to be filled with life and knowledge. He had scars on his wrists from his recurring substance abuse, and the loss of cases caused him to be locked away in his flat most of the time. He was no longer the intelligent brain that he was known for. He was now broken, not able to find a way to permanently fill the whole John had unknowingly left in his chest. He slowly slipped out the bathroom and headed to his room, sluggishly dressing before cleaning up any remains of drug use in the flat. Mary and John were coming over to discuss the wedding, and he couldn’t have his problems deterring them from what really mattered- their hopefully long and happy life together. His meeting had gone well, and he was now on a case with John. Having successfully cracked it in under 30 minutes, him and John now had the rest of the evening to themselves. They decided to go to eat at the first restaurant they had ever eaten together.  
“So,” John said, scarfing down the pasta in front of him as Sherlock (as always) ate nothing. “You look a bit pale, are you okay?” John asked, looking into Sherlock’s gloomy eyes with a concerning look.  
“Oh, yeah, j-just haven’t gotten enough sleep” he lied, taking a long sip of his tea. He was wearing the usual- a formal button up shirt, slacks, and his trench coat (which was thankfully long enough to cover Sherlock’s nicotine patches on his arm. He didn’t want to concern John).  
“Oh, okay. Good to hear.” He said, finishing the last of his meal. “We still have half an hour, want to walk a bit?”  
“Sure,” Sherlock faintly replied, they both gathered their belongings and slipped out the restaurant, Giving a small gesture to Angelo, the restaurant owner, before leaving. They walked for half an hour, the warm weather bringing a calm ending to their evening out. They talked, joked, laughed, and were starting towards the flat when Sherlock stopped.  
“John, there’s something I need to say,” he admitted, looking down at his shoes as he talked. This is it Sherlock thought, your only chance to tell him before this goes through.  
“Yes, Sherlock?” John asked, stopping to look at sherlock once again, staring at his small face, cheekbones more defined as usual. John wasn’t an idiot. He knew Sherlock wasn’t eating appropriately. Weight loss, pale skin, decline in strength- all signs that perhaps indicated that Sherlock wasn’t getting the nutrients his body needed. However, John decided to dismiss this, knowing that he usually didn’t eat on cases and that this week may have just been busy or he just didn’t have time with all of his “experiments.”  
“Oh, um… nothing,” he replied. He couldn’t do that to John. Admitting his feelings to him could potentially ruin their friendship or worse. They walked back to the flat in silence, nodding at each other quietly as both Mary and John exited the flat. Sherlock watched them sadly out the window, tears streaming down his face as he watched the car drive away in the distance. Rain began to glide against the window as Sherlock climbed back onto the couch, syringe in hand. That night was the first night in years that Sherlock overdosed.


	2. The Stag Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock celebrate the blogger's upcoming marriage with a night on the town, hitting every bar they've ever found a corpse at. However, after they've had a little too much to drink, tension rises, causing a rather perplexing situation for the two men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, guys! I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to publish my second chapter. Life was getting in the way (how rude, right??) as usual, but I'm so excited to be posting this chapter. Upon rewatching The Sign of Three, I realized that the events are not in the correct order that they are in the episode but they're minor things I'm hoping everyone can overlook. This chapter does actually have a few physical things going on between Sherlock and John, but I would like all of you to consider that every action has a consequence, whether it comes sooner or later (mwahaha ha-ha). Okay, okay I'm done rambling. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> XX- TL

Sherlock woke up that morning in a hospital bed with his brother, Mycroft Holmes, staring down at him.

“Why are  _ you  _ here?” Sherlock spat at his brother. Groaning as he repositioned his body so that Mycroft was in his main field of vision.

“Sherlock, what were you thinking?” Mycroft asked, his face red and puffy and his eyes glassy from the obvious immense amount of crying he has done.

“I wasn’t” Sherlock quickly retorted, staring up at Mycroft with a more vulnerable look than before. “I’m tired of thinking. Tired of everyth-”

“Sherlock,  _ please,  _ would you stop this?” Mycroft asked, placing his hand in Sherlock’s. “I-I don’t want to lose you. You’re my only brother.”

“I know, Mycroft. I’m sorry. It’s just… I felt so alone” Sherlock whispered, his voice hoarse as tears silently fell from his eyes.

“Oh, Sherlock… you’re not al-”

“Yes, I am.” Sherlock insisted, squeezing his brother’s hand. “P- please tell me you didn’t tell John?” Sherlock pleaded. He didn’t want to upset his friend. John was going through so much stuff at the moment, and he didn’t want to stress him out even more. 

“Only if you promise not to do… all of this again.” Mycroft insisted. He looked Sherlock in his eyes, his frail, fragile brother that had gone from a hero to a dying junkie with the snap of his fingers. “I don’t think you could understand, but I really do care about you. If you ever need me, just-”

“Oh  _ please  _ do stop with the sentiment.” Sherlock interrupted. “I’m not a child, I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, because you being admitted into a hospital definitely proves of your capability to be independent. I don’t want to have to take drastic measures. Just… promise Sherl. If not for me then for John.” Mycroft’s eyes were watering again and he moved his head down to his hand which was still enclosed in his baby brother’s. “I don’t want to see you like this.” The hospital room was silent except for the muffled cries of both men. After some time, Sherlock finally spoke again.

“Fine,” Sherlock said, “I promise.”

~

Sherlock laid on the couch in the living room and sighed as he felt the cold liquid move from the syringe into his veins. It had only been two days since his hospital visit, and Sherlock had already resumed his diminished state. The rapid intake of drugs was putting an extremely unhealthy amount of damage to the famous consulting detective, but he felt no need to make himself any better.  _ John’s gone, what’s the point?  _ His whole world had fallen, broken apart and it was all his fault. “ _ I should have called”  _ Sherlock thought to himself.  _ “If i had- maybe there’d be a chance that this could have been different.”   _ Sherlock didn’t want to live in a world without John. He was losing him, and he had no idea what to do about it. John had said he forgiven him, but the way John looked at Sherlock was now different. The lively eyes that Sherlock loved so much now had a tone of hurt and unforgiveness in them whenever the doctor looked at his former flatmate. Sherlock was starting to give up. He felt so unloved and neglected. John rarely visited anymore, and he now went on cases with Molly or Toby (but Toby wasn’t really there for aid, but rather because Sherlock enjoyed the four-legged companion’s company more than anything). Sherlock gave himself no more than a month before he would leave this world. He tried so much, but the seven percent solutions were doing nothing to mend his aching heart. Of course, there was still the wedding. Sherlock had decided that he would try his best to stay clean until after the event, but he could make no promises. His behavior was now becoming unpredictable, and his emotions were raging out of control.. Sherlock stood up and went to his desk to check if anyone had left a case for him. After some time of browsing, he had found his way onto John’s blog, looking through the stories with the rather absurd titles ( _ The Terrifying Toenail? Really? _ ) when he suddenly came across the one that marked their first crime together-  _ A Study in Pink.  _ Tears filled his eyes as he read the splendid first entry of John’s blog. He wished they could go back to before Reichenbach. Then it would all be different. If only he had called.

Sherlock looked at the clock on the small laptop in on the desk. It read five o’clock in the evening.  _ “John will be here soon,”  _ Sherlock thought,  _ “better get ready.”  _ Today was the day that Sherlock had arranged for John’s stag night. He didn’t really have much planned, just thought that they would go around to every pub they ever found a body at. To avoid getting drunk (and perhaps confessing his love for his former flatmate), Sherlock had calculated the average intake of alcohol that they could consume per pub. Sherlock was hoping that this night would be fun for the both of them and hopefully lead to a better relationship with the blogger and detective as their previous affiliations have been a bit on the rocky side since Sherlock’s look-John-I’m-not-dead declaration. Sherlock walked into the bathroom and glanced at himself in the mirror. He was in an even more ramshackled state than before. Sherlock was making an effort to eat more which led to a small amount of pigment show on his skin and the ocean-like color of his eyes was more visible. He was more toned and his rib cage wasn’t as obvious as before. However, the scars from his accelerated consumption of his homespun drugs were more conspicuous and were in larger numbers than there were previously. Not wanting to waste time with a bath, Sherlock turned on the shower head and stepped underneath the lukewarm water. He placed one hand on the wall in front of him and stooped his head down so that the water was hitting the back of his neck. He let out a long sigh as he felt the water fall down his neck and unto the small of his back, eventually rolling down his legs and unto the floor of the shower. He stayed there for a while, tears streaming down his face, blending in with the water from the shower head above. He cried loud, audible sobs. Eventually taking his hand from the tiled shower and moving it so that it covered his face. He cried for a good ten minutes before he heard a loud knock on the bathroom door. A muffled voice called out to him from the hallway.

“Sherlock?,” the feminine voice called. “Are- Are you okay?” Taken back by the sudden signal of his name, his sobbing abruptly stopped. Turning off the shower and clearing his throat, he responded. 

“Um yes. Yes, I’m fine.” He retorted, “I-I’ll be out in a minute.” Sherlock quickly grabbed a towel from the rack and lazily wrapped it around the lower half of his body. His curls a careless mess, dripping everywhere and making a wet disarray on the tiles beneath his feet. 

He opened the door, peering into his flat to find Molly sitting on the couch in front of the mantel. 

“Oh,” Sherlock exclaimed softly, the sudden sight of the pathologist in his sitting room making the atmosphere suddenly awkward. 

“Um.. sorry to interrupt, I just…” she trailed off, looking at the consulting detective in front of her. His petite, toned body glistening with the water that had not yet been wiped off from the shower. She stared for a moment longer, her mouth ajar as she examined the tall, strikingly gorgeous man in front of her. 

“Yes?” Sherlock pressed, getting a bit annoyed at the admittedly unwanted attention he was receiving from the scientist. 

“Oh, um…” She trailed off once more. Biting her lip as she met eyes with the man staring at her. Her face turned a deep red as she stared down at the carpet beneath her feet. 

“GOOD GOD, MOLLY! Spit it out!” Sherlock barked, the drugs playing a bit into his aggravated temper. The sudden demand caused Molly to jump as she babbled on to try to find her words once more.

“Um, sorry I-I have the calculations you wanted me to make… for John’s stag night.” She stood up quickly, staggering over to the detective to hand over the papers with the calculations she had made. “Sorry to disturb you,” Molly said, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ll...see you later.” Molly turned around and walked off, hastily starting towards the door when a strong arm took hold of her wrist. With a gasp, Sherlock spun Molly around, staring deeply into her eyes.

“Thank you,” He whispered. “For everything.” Molly’s face once more turned a deep crimson as she practically swooned from how close Sherlock was to her face. Sherlock let go of Molly, walking into the bedroom and leaving the awe-stricken pathologist in the sitting room by herself. “Go ahead and let yourself out. Thank you, again.” Sherlock shouted, closing his bedroom door just as Molly went down the stairs and out of 221b. Sherlock quickly got dressed, pulling his clothes on with great force and urgency. Molly’s visit had taken a bit too long and it would now be any minute until John would be knocking on his flat door. He pulled on his usual trousers and a satin purple shirt. He was just pulling on his shoes as John walked into Sherlock’s flat.

“Hello, Sherlock,” John said, smiling as he walked into his old flat. “Nice to see you. Are you ready to go?”

“Um… yeah, just… gimme a minute. I need the loo.” Sherlock quickly trekked into the bathroom, searching under his sink for the makeup bag that he kept for those rare cases that required him to dress up as a woman or something of the sort. He pulled out the foundation, smoothing it over his forearms, trying not to get it anywhere but the skin. He didn’t want John to notice the pronounced signs of drug use that were on his arms. After a few more minutes, he walked out of the restroom, smoothing over his shirt as he strutted out of the restroom.

“Some piss,” John stated, smiling up at his friend from the newspaper that was in his hand. 

“Oh, shut up,” Sherlock replied Jokingly. “Now let’s get this night started.”

 

~

Sherlock waltzed over to the table, bringing the two oversized graduated cylinders on the table between the two of them.

“Cheers to the groom,” Sherlock said as he smiled, the word  _ groom  _ digging into him like a sharp dagger. He tried not to pay too much attention to the reason why both of them were here and rather on the time that he got to spend with his best friend.

“Cheers,” John replied, winking as the glass containers let out an abrupt  _ clink  _ at the touch of the drink. John guzzled down his drink, slamming it on the table while letting out a loud sigh. Sherlock drunk his drink a bit slower, letting his eyes stay glued on John as he let the drink go down his throat. “That was refreshing.” John said, breaking the silence between the two men. “Where to next?”

The rest of the night had gone the same way, the men going to each pub, sharing small conversations between each visit, downing their drinks and moving on to the next bar in no less than 30 minutes. Everything was going normal until they entered  _ Heaven _ on Villiers Street.

_ Oh,  _ Sherlock mouthed as both men walked into the pulsing night club. John and Sherlock looked around, staring at the ton of shirtless men surrounding them. John coughed uncomfortably as they moved through the dancing men, muttering apologies on their way to the bar. The two men sat at a table a small distance from the bar. They drank their drinks awkwardly, quickly guzzling down the alcohol while they sat in absolute silence (or as silent as it was going to get in a emphatic night club).

“Dear god Sherlock do you know where we are?” John asked, smiling at the detective who had a rather comical look of confusion on his face.

“I-It appeared that it had escaped me upon planning this,” Sherlock replied. Sherlock knew exactly how this had happened. After an admittedly abundant load of drugs, Sherlock began to plan for this event. He supposed he had overlooked the part about it being a gay bar. While Sherlock was occupied with looking through his mind palace to find the exact point that he had somehow planned to go to a gay bar with his most-likely heterosexual friend, John was taking shots at the bar. 

“One more, he mustn't see,” John said in a hushed voice as he swigged his third shot. John had both graduated cylinders with him at the bar and he had somehow lost track of which one belonged to whom. Shrugging it off and pouring another shot into one of the drinks, he carried both back to the table where Sherlock was still perched. 

“Well, this seems like a judgement free zone, so care to join me in a dance?” John asked, holding his hand out to the consulting detective. Sherlock stared at John with a look of shock and bewilderment.  _ Well, this may be the last night you will ever be this close to John Hamish Watson  _ he thought  _ might as well go for it. _ After a long time of thinking, Sherlock finally decided.

“Oh what the hell”, he said, downing his drink before joining the doctor on the dancefloor.

The two men danced for a while, giggling at the uncomfortable height difference between the two of them. As the unexpected volume of alcohol kicked in, the men started to swoon and sway until they were unable to stand. Suddenly as the men died down and started towards their seats, Sherlock felt a swift hand land upon his arse.

“Looking good, man.” A man yelled at him, eyes consumed with lust. Sherlock spun around, looking at the man with an offended look on his face as he let go of John’s hand and walked towards the man who had assaulted his rear end. 

“And who are  _ you? _ ” Sherlock asked, swaying as he talked to the man.  _ Oh God,  _ John thought,  _ this wasn’t going to end well.  _ A few more minutes of angry dialogue was shared between the two men before things started to get heated between them. Somehow during their conversation, they had got on the topic of someone called “Ash.” 

“I know Ash,” Sherlock started, “don’t tell me i don’t” he followed up, emphasizing each syllable with a poke on the other man’s chest. Suddenly, the unknown man brought his fist up, swinging at the drunk Sherlock and missing by a centimeter. The missed jab set off something in Sherlock and he was now drunkenly swinging at nothing, John holding him back to ensure he wasn’t going to hurt anyone or himself. With great effort, John was finally able to get the drunk detective out of the bar. He hailed a cab and in a couple of minutes the two men were at 221b where John would be spending the night while his wife was out doing God-knows-what with Janine and the other bridesmaids.

“Jawnnnnn” Sherlock slurred, pulling at the shorter man’s coat while he tried to keep up, ignoring the bickering cabbie that they both had forgotten to pay. Both men only made it one stair up the steps before they began to feel tired. They both slept on the staircase until Ms. Hudson came in and forced them to go upstairs.

 

~

 

Sherlock and John were now in the sitting room, desperately attempting (and of course failing) to play the Rizla game. The alcohol had still not worn off and the blogger and detective were drunkenly giggling and pointing at each other while trying to continue on with the game. John Watson had “Madonna” on his forehead why Sherlock, coincidentally, had “Sherlock Holmes” upon his.

“Am I the current King of England?” Sherlock pondered, staring intensely into John’s eyes. Sherlock’s question was answered with an abruption of laughter from the doctor.

“You know we don’t have a king.” John responded, staring fondly at the confused, intoxicating man in front of him.

“Don’t we?”

“No.”

“Your go.” Sherlock said, crossing his legs while drinking a glass of alcohol. Instead of asking a question, John slowly rose from his seat, slowly moving his hand towards Sherlock’s leg, resting it softly upon his knee. After what seemed like forever, John let go, moving back into his chair. 

“I don’t mind,” he said, throwing his hands of as he shrugged off the rather peculiar action he had just initiated. 

“Me neither,” Sherlock said, positioning his drink on the small table beside him as John once again moved forward but now so that he was inches away from his former flatmate’s face. 

“How about now? You mind?” John asked, his breath tickling sherlock’s mouth.

“John, what are yo-” Sherlock was cut off by the abrupt force of John’s lips upon his, leaving the detective temporarily paralyzed, still trying to figure out if this was reality or some drug induced dream. “John,” Sherlock pleaded between kisses, “Sto-”

“Shhhhhh, I know.” John said, moving his mouth unto the detective’s once more. 

“John, stop.” Sherlock pressed, pushing John away so he could look at the doctor. “You’re going to get married, what in the  _ fucking _ hell are you doing?” he asked, the alcohol quickly wearing off the both of them. John laughed again, but it wasn’t like the laugh that he had outed a couple minutes ago. Instead, this one was filled with hurt and disbelief.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” John asked, tears welling up in his eyes as he stared at his best man. “I don’t love Mary, not like i love you. I’d rather be with you than anyone else.”

“Then  _ why  _ are you marrying her?” Sherlock asked, tears appearing on his face as well.

“It’s because I love her too, just not the same as I love you. When you faked your death and left me for two years, did you ever take into consideration how I may have felt? While you were out playing hide-and-seek with fucking Moriarty, not giving a goddamn thought to how I was feeling, I was crumbling, Sherlock. I was falling to pieces and there was no one to pick them up and tell me it was going to be alright. Harry wouldn’t talk to me, I had no one else, and on top of that, my father died. I bet you didn’t know that because you were too busy trying to be the motherfucking hero! You had  _ no  _ right to leave me like you did. I was alone again, my limp started to come back and my tremor started reappearing as well. You never  _ once  _ took the bloody consideration to call or at least  _ check in  _ on me. So I got tired of waiting for a fucking miracle to happen. I gave up. I found someone who actually cared about me and treated me like a goddamn human being instead of a fucking piece of garbage!”

“Shut the hell up John!” Sherlock barked back, standing up and knocking the drink off of the table, the contents of the glass spilling on the carpet beneath his feet. “Do you realize why I did what I did? It wasn’t to show off my fucking intelligence or to prove I was  _ clever,  _ it was to save your bloody life, John. I know you wished I was there, hell I wanted to be there too instead of being fucking tortured in Serbia to ensure that we could continue living without a criminal plotting to kill us. I was trying to make sure we could live as close to normal as possible. I understand I could’ve called, and I’m sorry. I just wanted what was best. I never intended to hurt-” Sherlock’s ranting was stopped by the uncontrollable flowing of tears down his face. The sobs growing louder as he buried his face unto his palms. John stood there, looking at Sherlock, the man whom he thought was incapable of any type of human emotion. The cold hearted machine, was  _ crying  _ right in front of him

“Oh God, Sherlock, love I’m-”

“DON’T,” Sherlock yelled, swatting John’s hand away from his face, “just… leave me alone. Why don’t you go call up Mary or something.” Sherlock spat, stomping away into his bedroom before abruptly closing the door. 

It had been about ten minutes before Sherlock heard a soft knock on his bedroom door.

“Go away,” he groaned, his dismissal partially muffled by the satin pillow that is face was resting upon.

“Like hell I will,” John replied, opening the door as he softly entered the bedroom. He moved over to Sherlock’s bed, sitting carefully on Sherlock’s bed.

“You called me love,”

“Oh, um, sorry. I-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sherlock replied, looking up at John with a look of despair and brokenness on his face. “Look, John, I’m sorry. It wasn't right for me to leave you by yourself.”  
“I’m sorry as well, I was a cock. I made assumptions without even realizing what you went through to save me” The doctor replied, looking up into Sherlock’s deep, piercing eyes. They stared a bit longer, getting closer until their lips crashed into each other's once more, feeling a bit more natural than before. This time, Sherlock didn’t protest, he let his lips work against the blogger’s, moving his hands to the doctor’s face as they continued to kiss. Sherlock moved down to John’s neck, sucking and biting, but being careful not to leave any marks on his body.

“She-Sherl,” John started, huffing as Sherlock continued to work on his neck, moving down to his collarbone. “Sherlock.” He called a bit louder, causing the detective to look up at John. “Listen, Sherlock, I love you. I truly do… but I also love Mary.” He said, staring into the detective’s sad eyes.

“I know.” He said, sharing John’s gaze. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I just-”

“Yeah, I know.” John said, cutting of Sherlock. “I don’t know either.” John moved away from sherlock, laying down on the bed and resting his head on his chest. “You’re a brilliant man, Sherlock, but I can’t do this. I’m engaged, I have my life basically planned out for me now. In a week I’ll be married to a beautiful women whom I love. This can’t happen again, okay?” John asked, looking up at Sherlock who was desperately trying to cover his look of disappointment he was feeling in his heart.  _ Of course it wouldn’t work out, you idiot,  _ He thought to himself. Sherlock hated himself for even thinking for a moment that John was the type of man to leave his fiance. John would do many things for Sherlock, but he knew that wasn’t one of them.

“Yeah, okay.” Sherlock replied, his voice hoarse as he tried to hold back tears. 

“Okay. Good. Just friends, right?” John asked, maneuvering himself so that he was now sitting instead of lying on the bed. 

“Yeah, friends.” Sherlock retorted, the statement tearing out the last of his heart out of his chest, leaving an unmendable mess behind. John quickly exited, wishing Sherlock a good night before closing the door. Once Sherlock had made sure John was gone, he sat down on his bed and wept uncontrollably, letting the tears roll down his cheeks and make a large damp puddle on the quilt beneath him. He continued to cry until his sobs gradually got quieter as he was on the verge of sleep.

_ Two years, too late  _ he thought to himself as he was dragged into a deep slumber.


	3. The final fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE  
> This is the last chapter in the fic, I'm sorry it's literally almost taken three years to write this. To be honest, fic writing is only something I do in the rare chance of freetime but I really wanted to finish this one because it's been doing so well, and It's also the first fic I've ever published on here so I thought I owed it to myself. Anyways I hope you enjoy :)  
> -TL

Sherlock stared at the ceiling, feeling the material of the floor under the exposed small of his back. His throat felt raw from crying- a feeling that wasn’t too uncommon nowadays. More than a week ago was John and Mary’s wedding, and now they were on a honeymoon. In an alarming tern of events, and unbeknownst to everyone (except Sherlock, of course), it was quietly revealed that the bride and groom were expecting. And now they were somewhere loving each other’s brains out in Barcelona. John hadn’t told Sherlock where exactly, he was afraid that Sherlock would try to follow them and ruin their holiday.  John didn’t tell Sherlock this, but Sherlock knew. It wasn’t unusual to feel unwanted now.

At this point in Sherlock’s life, he was the loneliest he had been in _years_ and it was all his fault. Sherlock couldn’t bear the fact that John was in an unknown location, being touched by someone that wasn’t himself. Sherlock wanted John so badly, _needed_ him, but now he would never have him. Sherlock tilted his head to the side and stared at the syringe near his hand, closing his eyes and waiting for the drug to take effect. This is all he had now. This is all he’ll ever have. NO one will ever love a freak like him. John was the first and will most certainly be the last. Sherlock had lost his chance for happiness, and now he would never regain it.

 Sherlock began to shake as tears streamed down his face. It was all over. It will never be the same. John will get new friends, and in time he will forget about Sherlock, just like he did during those two years alone. Suddenly, Sherlock felt a sharp pain in his chest. He opened up his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Sherlock’s eyes grew wide and his mouth was ajar in a silent shout as the pain began to flood to every part of his body. Sherlock was shaking violently, and his eyes began to roll to the back of his head. _What’s happening?_ Sherlock said, his thoughts seeming miles away. Sherlock let out a small whimper and successfully closed his eyes, his whole body beginning to feel numb. Just as he went limp, the door to 221b swung open.

“Sherlock?” Mycroft’s voice came from the door way, seemingly distant even though he was nearly to his side in seconds.

-

John woke up next to Mary, the sunlight from the window shining on his wife’s face. He moved his hand to her face, brushing her hair from her forehead to plant a kiss on it, rousing her from her light sleep. Mary opened her light blue eyes, smiling as she stared up at her husband.

“Good morning” John said, his voice raspy from sleep.

“Morning.” Mary said, smiling as she moved her hand towards her husband’s face. John closed the space between them, meeting his lips with hers as he caressed her jaw. Mary deepened the kiss, wrapping her hands around her husband’s waist, pulling him down on top of her. John inclined his head to reach Mary’s neck, kissing downwards until he was at her collarbone, sucking a bruise into her pale skin. He inched further down, eventually coming to her chest.

“John,” Mary breathed, a little uneasy.

“There’s nothing to worry about love, I’ve got you,”

John pushed his hand under Mary’s top, moving his hand to cup her breast, brushing his fingers slightly over her nipple. Mary sucked in a breath, exhaling slowly as she opened her legs further for John. Mary could feel John hardening above her, and moved her hips to his for a second, smiling in the way he grunted from the brief friction. Her husband moved downward, putting his previous actions to a halt for a second before planting a kiss to Mary’s stomach. For a brief moment, Mary could see sentiment in her husband’s eyes before they clouded over once more with lust. He began to kiss upward, making his way back to where he was. But before he could make contact, with his lover’s chest, he felt a hand push him away. Confused, John moved his head from its previous position to look up at his wife. 

 “Wait, John,” Mary hesitated, moving her hand to create a space between her and john. Worry flooded over John’s face, causing the wrinkles on his forehead to deepen with concern.

“What is it love?” John asked, moving back to sit on his heels. Mary looked down, uncertainty forming on her face as she tried to find the words to explain her situation.

“There’s… something I have to tell you John.” Mary started, sitting up and propping herself on her elbows. “The baby… it’s not yours.” John stopped for a moment. Time seemed to stop as he processed what his wife had just said. Betrayal and grief filled his heart. He thought she’d be the one he’d spend his whole life with, the one he’d share everything with. This destroyed everything. The heartbreak he had tried to heal from Sherlock’s death was all for nothing. He had tried so hard to mute the feelings he had for his best friend, and he’d finally done it. And it was all for nothing. He could be with Sherlock right now, but instead he chose her. John sat up and began to walk towards the door.

“Wait, John where are you going?” Mary said, jumping up to grab her husband’s hand and enclose it in hers. But before she could twine her fingers between his, John snatched his hand away, glaring at the woman in front of him.

“Seriously?” John asked, “Where am I going? How could you do this to me? How could you betray me like this? I gave up _everything_ for you and this is how you repay me? Who was it?

“It was-“

“No, shut up. Shut the fuck up. I don’t even care who it was. I hope you’re happier with him.” John stormed off, slamming the door behind him, leaving a heartbroken Mary behind.

“John!” Mary screamed, running after him. “John, I’m sorry! It was a stupid mistake!”

“A _stupid mistake?_ I hope you know that you just ruined everything. This is over.” Mary stopped in her tracks, tears streaming down her face.

“Over? What do you mean it’s over?”

“What don’t you get you stupid bitch? We’re done! We hadn’t even been married and you were already off shagging other men! I can’t trust you!” He said, turning back to walk out of the villa.

“John!” Mary said, desperately trying to mend what they had left. She ran up and grabbed John’s arm, trying to pull him in an embrace. John pushed her away, sending her almost falling to the floor.

“Stay the fuck away from me! I don’t want anything to do with you!” John screamed, walking away.

“Where are you going John? All of your stuff is inside!”

“I’m going for a walk,” John replied, stomping off. “I’ll be back in an hour, don’t be here when I get back.” John walked towards the train station, fighting off tears as he opened his phone. He looked for Sherlock’s number and pressed ‘call’, praying to God that he’d pick up.

Instead of hearing his best friend’s baritone voice, he heard another, as equally familiar voice.

“ _John?”_

“Mycroft? Is that you?”

“ _John, where are you?”_

“You don’t already know that?”

_“… I haven’t had time.”_

“Where’s Sherlock?”

 _“John, you need to get back to London_ now. _Something’s happened.”_

John sat down on the bench close to him, bracing himself for whatever Sherlock’s brother was about to tell him.

“What is it, what’s happened?”

_“John, Sherlock’s overdosed. It’s bad”_

“Jesus,” John whispered, putting his phone down to hold his head in his hands. _This can’t be happening._

_“John? Are you still there?”_

“Uh, yeah.”

_“I’ll have someone come get you in an hour.”_

“Yeah… okay” He replied, dazed and numb.

_“It’s going to be okay John, he’s strong.”_

“But what if he isn’t strong enough? You’ve seen things he’s put himself through. It’s a miracle he’s lived this long.”

 _“I know John, but right now, all we can do is hope. I’ll see you soon.”_ After that the line went dead, and John sat there, staring blankly at the sidewalk and letting the tears that welled up in his eyes fall on the pavement.

-

The plane ride to London was a quiet one filled with anxiety. John’s left hand began to shake as he looked out the window, but he barely noticed it with all of the thoughts filling his head.

_Was Sherlock okay?_

_What had happened?_

_Will he be okay?_

_How bad is it?_

The phone call with Mycroft had been short, once he had gotten on the plane, he had talked to him briefly but it barely did anything to alieve his nerves. All he knew was that Sherlock had overdosed. They couldn’t exactly pinpoint the substance and it seemed to be a home-made concoction that was mixed with many things. Eventually John was able to get a few hours asleep which was probably the best. He was awakened a few moments later by a flight attendant with bleach blonde hair that came to her shoulders.

“Sir?” the woman asked, slightly shaking John to arouse him from his slumber. John jolted awake, grabbing the woman’s wrist hard before realizing his surroundings. He let go with a small apology.

“We’ve arrived. Do you want your luggage sent to your house?’

“No, thank you. Send it to 221b Baker Street please.”

“Of course sir, there’s a car on the runway to take you to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.”

“Okay, thanks,” John said, getting out of his seat and stretching. He let out a small cry of pain as he went to stroke his left leg. He quickly got out, trying not to put so much pressure on his leg as he walked towards the car. The driver didn’t say a word, and neither did John. He just got into the back seat and looked out the window. John pulled out his phone, there were 34 unread messages from Mary and 10 missed calls. _What doesn’t she get?_ John turned off his phone, turning his attention to the passing streets of London.

-

John stared at the plain white tiles in the waiting room, trying hard to control his emotions.

 _Is he okay?_ Will _he be okay?_

Before he could dive deeper into his thoughts, he was interrupted by a nurse with short blond hair and milky skin. John subconsciously frowned at the way she resembled Mary but thought nothing else of it.

“John Watson? Come this way.” John could feel his heart drum in his chest. He was already shaking with anxiety for what he might see. They came to his room and he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Oh God, Sherlock” Tears began to well up in his eyes at what he saw. Sherlock was so pale and his arms were bruised and in spite of the gown that covered him, he could still see his ribs underneath. He looked like he was already dead. Then John heard a soft noise and realized someone else was also in the room. He walked over to the side of the room and saw Mycroft kneeling at the edge of the hospital bed with Sherlock’s hand in his. He looked up at John, his eyes red and puffy from crying and his sleep deprivation excruciatingly apparent.

“I tried to save him John,” he whispered, looking up at him with so much loss in his eyes. “There wasn’t anything I could do.” His tears began to fall uncontrollably from his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

John covered his mouth and went closer to Sherlock. He didn’t even look alive. His skin was pale and he was so skinny John thought he could see every bone. John knelt beside Sherlock, holding his hand as he cried into his side. _I’m sorry too._

-

It had been a week since Sherlock’s overdose, and the only reason he was still alive was for people to say goodbye. They had diagnosed brain death thirty minutes before John had arrived. John remembers breaking down into Mycroft’s shoulder, both of them holding each other, _extremely_ broken by the loss. Each day since then, John had been in the hospital room. He was dazed and numb and barely spoke to anyone as they passed to see Sherlock one last time before they pulled the plug. People John had only seen a handful of times showed up: clients, store owners, even Irene Adler showed up. She walked over and gave john a long hug before retreading to God-knows-where. And now it was time for John to say goodbye. This would be the last time John would ever see Sherlock alive. John sat up from his chair, sniffling, but unable to cry anymore.

“I’m so sorry Sherlock” he cried, his speech ragged from sobs. “If I had just been honest about myself this would have never happened. You were amazing. If I had never met you, I wouldn’t have lived this long. To be honest I don’t think I’ll live long now either. You were my everything, and I took that for granted. I should’ve been happy when you came back, but instead I held it against you and our friendship was never fully restored. Every moment I spent with you made me feel so alive, so _happy._ My only regret is that I never told you-“John let out another sob, his tears falling to Sherlock’s face.

John leaned down toward Sherlock’s lips, placing a soft kiss to the chapped pale ones underneath his. He wasted so much time. He could’ve said something. John placed his head to Sherlock’s chest before taking a deep breath.

“Sherlock Holmes, I love you.”

-

 John didn’t know how, but eventually he found himself on the roof of St. Bart’s. John went to the edge of the building, sitting down and holding his head in his hands. John sobbed loudly, his tears falling to the cement and making small puddles that would evaporate soon. _If only I had been there for him_ John thought. _If only I hadn’t been so_ heartless. _He would be alive if it wasn’t for how I treated him._  John was all alone now. He left Mary, and his first love was now gone as well. If he hadn’t been so bitter things would be different. He loved Sherlock. He still did when he came back two years later. But he was too naive to see through his loathing and now it was too late. He had no one. He _was_ no one. There was no point to anything anymore. The only thing that had saved him was gone and it was all because of him. John got up and walked over to the edge. It was a cloudy, grey day just like the one three years ago. He looked down at the street below, at all the people and the cars passing by. _They don’t even know who I am. I don’t matter to them, I don’t matter at all._ John inhaled and stepped onto the ledge. _There’s no reason to live in a world without you in it._ John closed his eyes and leaned forward. _Don’t worry Sherlock, I’m coming home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay and that's the end! So sorry for the ending, but I just thought it fit. Maybe one day I'll revisit this and make an alternate, much happier ending. Who knows :)


End file.
